Be nice.

Take the plunge. On second thought, don’t. See, I happen to be a big advocate for plunger rights. It is my opinion that all plungers should be relieved of their duties and sent into early retirement to a dairy farm in Nova Scotia, where they will sip iced tea in rocking chairs and do jigsaw puzzles. Haven’t these poor inanimate souls been through enough trauma already? It’s enough to pay for a therapist’s second home in Bermuda. No amount of psycho-analysis, medication or experimental electro-shock treatment could erase the horrors plungers come face-to-face with on a daily basis. Sure, plungers are not physically aware of situation and surrounding, but they are metaphysically aware. Just as the rock is in tune with the river basin, the plunger is in tune with the toilet bowl. You may dismiss me as soft-hearted/clinically insane, but I stand by my advocacy for these poor objects. What’s more, if we don’t start treating plungers with the respect they deserve, they could possibly organize and rise up against us. How could a plunger possibly defeat a human in battle, you ask? Think about it: would you want to practice hand-to-hand combat with a used plunger? No. You would immediately concede the fight to avoid any possibility of close quarters contact. I guess we could send all our plumbers to the front lines, since they seem to have stronger stomachs when it comes to battling plungers. Then again, we’d be exposed to their collective backsides, which would not be the prettiest sight in the world. Aren’t you glad you decided to read my blog today?